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THE CREDITOR 


A Tragic Comedy 


BY 
AUGUST STRINDBERG 


Author of “ Motherlove,” “‘Swanwhite,” “Froken Julie,” etc. 


Translated from the Swedish 


BY 


FRANCIS J. ZIEGLER 


PHILADELPHIA 
BROWN BROTHERS 
1910 


Copyright, 1910 
BY 


BROWN BROTHERS 


OD OMEF GB 


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J 7 MP ds “A 
Jf CESK 


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a 


THE: CREDITOR: 


A Tragic Comedy by Aucust STRINDBERG 
English Version by FRANcIs J. ZIEGLER 


Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2008 with funding from 
Microsoft Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/creditortragiccoOOstri 


FOREWORD 


Amid that remarkable group of one-act plays which 
embodies August Strindberg’s maturest work as a play- 
wright, the tragic comedy “Fordringsigare,” (“The 
Creditor’), occupies a prominent place. 

Avowedly an attempt to break with stage tradition, 
to enlarge the scope of the drama, it has both the ex- 
cellencies and the extravagances peculiar to all revolu- 
tionary art, whether literary or pictorial. It serves 
the Swedish dramatist as a vehicle for displaying his 
diabolical skill as a psychologist, and, incidentally, as a 
means of exploiting his personal attitude toward woman- 
kind; for Strindberg, despite his occasional lapses into 
matrimony and a sort of naturalistic romanticism, is a 
misogymist at heart. 

“Fordringsigare” was produced for the first time in 
1889, when it was given at Copenhagen as a substitute 
for “Fréken Julie,” the performance of which was for- 
bidden by the censor.. Four years later Berlin audi- 
ences made its acquaintance, since when it has remained 
the most, popular of Strindberg’s plays in Germany. 

So far as is known, this is the first appearance of 


“The Creditor” in English dress. dA Vo 


Wiad 
a Ay 


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Ae te 


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ay He 
eat 


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Nei 


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CHARACTERS. 


Thekla. 

Adolph, her husband, painter. 

Gustave, her divorced husband, head teacher (travel- 
ing under an assumed name). 


LU 
if 


Tel 
Mile ha 
fae Ne 


i 


Fie he ia iA) fi i 
ent 
¥ i then F 





Prey CREDITOR 





SCENE. 


A salon in a seashore hotel. In the background a 
door leading to a veranda through which is seen a view 
of the distant landscape. A table with newspapers 
somewhat to the right; a chair to the left; a chaise 
longue to the right of the table. Door to a room at the 
right. 


(Adolph and Gustave at the table to the right.) 
ADOLPH. 


(Modeling a wax figure on a small modeling stand ; his 
two crutches lean beside him.) 


And for all this I have you to thank! 
GUSTAVE. 
(Smoking a cigar.) 
Oh, nonsense! 
ADOLPH. 
I’m in earnest. The first day after my wife had gone 


T lay helpless and bored on a sofa. It was as if she had 
11 


12 THE CREDITOR. 


taken my crutches with her, so that I could not move 
from the place. After I had slept for a day, I came to 
life and began to collect myself; my head, which had 
been working feverishly, began to quiet; old thoughts, 
which belonged to earlier days, reappeared; the desire 
to work and the impulse to create came back; the eye 
regained its power to see rightly and cunningly 
and then you appeared. 





GUSTAVE. 


You were miserable when I met you, granted, and 
you went on crutches, but that is not saying that my 
presence has been the primary cause of your recovery. 
You required rest and you needed masculine compan- 
ionship. 

ADOLPH. 


Yes, what you say is all true. I used to have men 
friends, but after I married they seemed superfluous, 
and I was contented with the single friendship of my 
wife. Then I came into new circles and made many 
new acquaintances, but my wife grew jealous of them; 
she wanted me to herself. What was worse, she wanted 
my friends to herself, and so I was left alone with my 
jealousy. 

GUSTAVE. 


You with symptoms of that disease! You? 


ADOLPH. 


T feared to lose her and tried tc come before them. 


THE CREDITOR. 13 


Was that strange? But I did not fear that she would 
be untrue to me. 
GUSTAVE. 


No, a husband never fears that! 
ADOLPH. 
No, isn’t that remarkable! What I feared was 
chiefly that the friends would gain an influence over her 


and, through it, an indirect power over me and that 
T could not bear. 





GUSTAVE. 


Then you and your wife have differences ofopinion? 


ADOLPH. 


Since you have heard so much, you shall hear every- 
thing. My wife has an independent nature——Why 
are you laughing ? 

GUSTAVE. 





Go on! “She has an independent nature——” 


ADOLPH. 
That will accept nothing from me—— 


GuUSTAVE. 


But from everyone else! 


14 THE CREDITOR. 
ADOLPH. 
(After a pause.) 

Yes! And it even seems as if she hated my ideas, 
not because they are absurd, but because they come from 
me. Then, it has often happened that she has taken 
my old ideas and advanced them as her own; yes, it 
has even happened that one of my friends has instilled 
an idea into her head which he received direct from 
me and that she has relished it. Relished everything 
except what came from me! 

GUSTAVE. 
That is to say, you are not really happy. 


ADOLPH. 


But I am happy! I have her I wanted, and I have 
never wished for another. 


GUSTAVE. 
And never wished to be free ? 
ADOLPH. 

No, I can’t say that. At times I have thought that 

T should have more peace of mind if I were free. But 


she had only to leave me alone and I longed for her, 
longed for her as for my arms and legs! It is strange, 


THE CREDITOR. 15 


but at times it seems to me as if she were not a sepa- 
rate being, but a part of my own individuality, an in- 
testine that carried my will and my desire to live, as if 
I had deposited my vital force in her custody. 


GUSTAVE. 


Possibly that is so, if one considers it rightly. 


ADOLPH. 


How can that be? She is an independent being with 
a multitude of personal ideas. When I met her I was 
nothing; an artist-child whom she brought up. 


GUSTAVE. 


But you begot her thoughts and developed them, did 
you not? 


ADOLPH. 


No! They grew and I cultivated them. 


’ GUSTAVE. 


Yes. Then it is peculiar that her literary ability 
fell off, or at least stood still, after her first book. But 
then she had a strong subject She must have drawn 
her husband. You never knew him? He must 
have been an idiot! 








16 THE CREDITOR. 
ADOLPH. 


I never knew him. He had gone away six months 
before I met her, but he must have been a confounded 
idiot if he fitted her description! (Pause.) And that 
her description is true you may be certain. 


GUSTAVE. 


That I am! But why did she take him ? 





ADOLPH. 


Because she did not know him; and one cannot know 
oneself as well before as after marriage. 


GUSTAVE. 


Then one should not marry before one has married! 
No, he was a tyrant, that goes without saying. 





ADOLPH. 
Goes without saying ? 
GUSTAVE. 
All husbands are that (coming nearer) and you not 
the least! 


ADOLPH. 


I! I who let my wife come and go as she will? © 


THE CREDITOR: a by 
GUSTAVE. 


Yes, that is the least of all. Do you want to lock 
her up! But are you pleased when she goes out at 
night ¢ 

ADOLPH. 

No, certainly not! 

GUSTAVE. 


See there! (Changes his place.) ‘To tell the truth, 
that makes you almost ridiculous. 


ADOLPH. 


Ridiculous! Can one be ridiculous because one has 
confidence in one’s wife ? 


GUSTAVE. 


Certainly one can, and you are so already. En- 
tirely so. 


ADOLPH. 
(Conyulsively.) 


That was the last thing I wanted to be, and it shall 
be different ! 


GUSTAVE. 


Don’t be so vehement, you will bring on another at- 
tack. 


18 THE “CREDITOR: 
ADOLPH. 


But why is she not ridiculous when I go out at night ? 


GUSTAVE. 


Why? That does not concern you, but it is so; and 
while you puzzled over the reason the misfortune came. 


ADOLPH. 
What misfortune 2 


GUSTAVE. 
Although her husband was a tyrant, she married him 


in order to be free; a woman only marries that way 
to use her husband as a cloak. 


ADOLPH. 
Naturally! 


GUSTAVE. 


And now you are the cloak. 
ADOLPH. 
I? 


GUSTAVE. 


Because you are the husband. 


(Adolph turns away.) 


THE CREDITOR. 19 


GUSTAVE. 
Am I not right ? 
ADOLPH. 


(Uneasily.) 


T don’t know One lives with a woman for years 
and thinks nothing about her or the relationship, and 
then—one begins to reflect—and then one’s thoughts 
are in a whirl! Gustave, you are my friend. You 
are the only male friend I have had. In these eight 
days you have given me back the courage to live. It 
seems as if your magnetism flows all through me. It 
seems as if you were a watchmaker who had repaired 
the works in my head and taken an obstruction out of 
them. Don’t you find that I think clearer, speak 
clearer; I believe, at least, that my voice has recovered 
its ring. 











GUSTAVE. 
Yes, I notice it, too. How did that happen ? 
ADOLPH. 
I don’t know if it-is due to my custom of speaking 
softly to women. Only a little while ago Thekla was 
always complaining that I shouted. 


GUSTAVE. 


And so you toned down your voice and tied yourself 
to her apron strings. 


20 THE CREDITOR 
ADOLPH. 


Don’t call it that! (Considers.) Perhaps it is 
something worse! But don’t let us talk about that 
now ! Where was I? Yes, you came here and 
you opened my eyes to the secrets of my art. For a 
long time I have been feeling my interest in painting 
wane, because it did not seem to furnish me the means 
of expressing what I wanted to express, but when you 
explained to me the foundation of phenomena, showing 
me why painting could not be a true form of artistic ex- 
pression in modern days, then a hght came to me and 
T saw that it would be absolutely impossible for me to 
continue producing in colors. 











GUSTAVE. 


Are you so certain that you can paint no longer; that 
there is no danger of your relapsing into your old 
ideas ? 

ADOLPH. 





Absolutely ! For I have proved it! When I went 
to bed the evening after our conversation, I reviewed 
your reasoning point by point, and saw that it was 
correct. But when I awoke, and my head cleared after 
the night’s sleep, the idea flashed into my brain that 
you might have erred. I sprang up and seized brushes 
and paint, but it was useless! I had no more illusion. 
There was nothing but spots of color and I wondered 
that I had ever believed, and talked others into believ- 
ing, that a painted canvas could be anything else than 


THE CREDITOR. 21 


a painted canvas. The scales had fallen from my eyes 
and it was as impossible for me to paint as 1t would be 
for me to become a child again. 


GUSTAVE. 

So you realized that the real modern inspirations, 
the longing for realism and tangibility, ean only find 
expression in sculpture, that is in creating bodies hay- 
ing the three dimensions. 

ADOLPH. 


(Thoughtfully.) 


Yes 


The three dimensions 








In a word, bodies. 
GUSTAVE. 


So you became a sculptor. That is to say, you were 
one already, but you had gone astray and only needed a 
guide to bring you back into the right path. Tell me, 
are you happiest now when you are at work ? 


ApDOoLPH. 
Then [I live! 
GUSTAVE. 


May I see what you are making? 


ADOLPH. 
‘A female figure. 


22 THE CREDITOR. 
GUSTAVE. 

Without a model? And so lifelike! 
ADOLPH. 
(Bluntly.) 

Yes, but it resembles someone! It is remarkable, 
that this woman seems to be a part of my body, as I 
seem to be part of hers! 

" Gustave. 

The last is not remarkable. Do you know what trans- 
fusion is? 

ADOLPH. 

Transfusion of blood? Yes. 

GUSTAVE. 

You appear to have let yourself be bled too much. 
But when I see this figure I understand things I had 
not suspected before. You have loved her inordinately. 

ADOLPH. 

Yes, so deeply that I cannot say if she is I, or I am 

she. When she laughs, I laugh; when she weeps, I 


weep; and when she gave birth to our child, can you 
believe it, I felt the birth pangs myself. 


THE ORE DITOR. 23 
GUSTAVE. 


Do you know, my friend, it grieves me to say it, but 
you are exhibiting the first symptoms of epilepsy. 


ADOLPH. 
(Shudders. ) 
I? How can you say that ? 
GUSTAVE. 


Because I saw them in a younger brother who in- 
dulged his amoristic propensity to excess. 


ADOLPH. 





How how did he exhibit that ? 


(Gustave describes in vivid fashion. Adolph listens 
intently and unwillingly copies Gustave’s gestures.) 


GUSTAVE. 


It was frightful to witness, and if you feel weak, I 
will not plague you with a description. 


‘ADOLPH. 


(With anxiety.) 


Go on, go on! 


24. THE CREDITOR. 
GUSTAVE. 

Yes, the youngster married an innocent maiden with 
eurls, the eyes of a dove, a childish face, and the soul 
of an angel. But it was not long before she began to 
assume the masculine prerogative. 

ADOLPH. 

What is that ? 

GUSTAVE. 

The initiative, naturally, and with such success, that 
the angel came near landing him in heaven. First, 


however, he had to be stretched on the cross and feel 
the nails enter his flesh. It was horrible! 


ADOLPH. 
(Breathless. ) 
Well, how was it then? 
GUSTAVE. 


(Slowly.) 





We might be sitting together, he and I and when 
he had chatted for a while, his face would grow white 
as chalk; arms and legs would stiffen and his thumbs 
would turn in over his palms, so! (Gesture, which 
Adolph repeats.) Then his eyes would grow bloodshot 
and he would begin to chew, so! (Chews, Adolph 


THE CREDITOR. 25 


copies him.) ‘The spittle rattled in his throat, his chest 
contracted as if pressed in a vice, his pupils flickered 
like gas jets, he frothed at the mouth and sank—sank— 











down—hbackward-—in his chair as if he were drowning! 
Then 
ADOLPH. 
Stop! 
GUSTAVE. 
Then Are you ill? 
ADOLPH. 
Yes! 
GUSTAVE. 


(Fetching a glass of water.) 


Here, drink this and we will talk about something 
else. 
ADOLPH. 


(Feebly.) 


Thanks. But go on! 


GUSTAVE. 


Very well. When he came to he remembered noth- 
ing which had happened; he had been entirely uncon- 
scious. Were you ever that way ? 


26 THE CREDITOR. 
ADOLPH. 


Yes, at times I have had fainting spells, but the doc- 
tor said it was anaemia. 


GUSTAVE. 


Yes, you see that is the beginning! But you may 
believe me it will be epilepsy, if you don’t take care. 


ADOLPH. 


What should I do? 


GUSTAVE. 


To begin with, you must observe absolute continence. 


ADOLPH. 
For how long? 


GUSTAVE. 


For half a year, at the very least. 
ADOLPH. 
I can’t do that! It would disrupt our married life! 


GUSTAVE. 


Good-by to you, then! o 


THE CREDITOR. 27 
ADOLPH. 
(Covers the wax figure with a cloth.) 


I can’t do that! 
GUSTAVE. 


Can’t save your life? But tell me, since you have 
given me so many confidences, are there no other 
wounds, not secret, that pain you? One seldom finds 
merely a single cause of discord, when life is so full of 
occasions for misunderstandings. Have you no skele- 
ton in the closet which you hide from yourself? You 
said, for example, a while ago, that you had a child that 
you sent away. Why isn’t he with you? 


ADOLPH. 
My wife doesn’t want it so. 

GUSTAVE. 
And her motive? Name it! 

ADOLPH. 


Because when it was three years old it began to look 
too much like him her first husband! 





GUSTAVE. 


Hm, hm! Did you ever see her first husband ? 


28 PAE CREDITOR: 
ADOLPH. 


No, never! I had only a fleeting glance at a poor 
portrait, but I could see no likeness. 


GUSTAVE. 


No, portraits are not likenesses, and he may have 
changed his type later. However, that aroused no sus- 
picion in you? 

ADOLPH. 


Certainly not! The child was born a year after our 
marriage, and her first husband had left before I met 
Thekla here—it was just here at this watering place, 
in this house even—that’s the reason we come here every 
summer. 

GUSTAVE. 


Then you could not possibly have the smallest sus- 
picion. Nor is there any reason why you should have. 
When a widow marries, her children by the second 
marriage often resemble her first husband. That is 
vexatious, undoubtedly, and that is why widows are 
burned in India, as you know. Now, tell me, are 
you never jealous of him, or his remembrance. Would 
it not disgust you to meet him and hear him say, with 
his eyes on Thekla, “we,” instead of “I ?’——“We?” 





ApoupH. 


T must admit, that thought has pursued me! 


THE CREDITOR. 29 


GUSTAVE. 





See there! And you cannot escape from it! 
There are discords in life which can never be resolved! 
On account of them you must stop your ears with wax 
and work! Work, alter, lay masses of new impressions 
on the coffin lid, then the corpse will le still. 


ADOLPH. 





Excuse my interrupting you! But it 1s remark- 
able how much you resemble Thekla at times when you 
speak! You have a habit of half closing the right eye, 
as if you were shooting, and your glances have the same 
power over me that hers have at times. 


GUSTAVE. 
No, really ? 
ApoLrH. 


And now you say “No, really” in the same indifferent 
tone she uses. She has a habit of saying ‘“‘No, really” 
very often. 

GUSTAVE. 


Possibly we are distantly related; all people are xe- 
lated. It is odd, all the same, and it will be interesting 
for me to make your wife’s acquaintance in order to 
see it. 

ADOLPH. 


But, would you believe it, she has never taken an 
expression from me, rather has she reduced my vocab- 


30 THE CREDITOR. 


ulary, and never have I seen her copy a gesture of mine. 
Yet they say that married people grow to resemble one 
another ! 

GUSTAVE. 


Yes, but do you know one thing? This woman has 
never loved you! 
ADOLPH. 
What ? 
GUSTAVE. 


Yes! Pardon me, but you see it is the nature of 
woman’s love to take and to receive. The man from 
whom a woman takes nothing. she does not love. She 
has never loved you! 

ADOLPH. 


Don’t you believe that a woman can love more than 


once ? 
GUSTAVE. 


No, one is cheated only once; afterward one keeps 
one’s eyes open! You have never been deceived ; there- 
fore, you must take heed of those who have been! They 
are dangerous! 

ADOLPH. 


Your words pierce me like knives, and I feel as if 
something were being cut in half, but I can’t hinder it, 
and it is good that it can be eut; there are some ulcers 
that will never ripen and burst! She has never 
loved me! Why did she take me then ? 








THE CREDITOR. 31 
GUSTAVE. 


First tell me how she came to take you, and whether 
you took her or she took you. 


ADOLPH. 


God knows if I can answer that! How did it hap- 
pen! It did not happen in a day! 


GUSTAVE. 
Shall I try and tell you how it came about ? 


ADOLPH. 
You ean’t do that! 
GUSTAVE. 


Oh, with the disclosures you have given me concern- 
ing you and your wife I can construct the episode. 
Listen and you shall hear it. (Dispassionately, almost 
jestingly.) The husband had gone on a journey and 
she was alone. First she felt a desire to be free; then 
came loneliness; for I take it she felt somewhat lonely 
after she had lived by herself for a fortnight. Then he 
came and filled the empty place in her life little by lit- 
tle. At the same time, the absent one began to fade, 
for the simple reason that he was at a distance. You 
know diffusion is as the square of the distance. But 
when they found their passion awakening they became 
uneasy about themselves, about their consciences, and 
about him. They sought protection and crawled be- 








32 THE CREDITOR. 


hind the fig leaves, played brother and sister, and the 
more carnal became their feelings, the more they at- 
tempted to idealize their relationship into a spiritual 
one! 

ADOLPH. 


Brother and sister? How do you know that? 
GUSTAVE. 


I divined it! Children lke to play papa and mama, 
but when they grow older they play brother and sister 
in order to hide what should be hidden! Then 
they put aside their vows of chastity and then they 
played hide and seek until they found themselves in 
a dark corner where they were sure that nobody saw 
them. (With playful strength.) But they felt as if 
some one looked at them through the darkness and 
they were frightened and in their fright the figure 
of the absent one began to haunt them: to assume 
dimensions to change its form; now it was a goblin 
that disturbed their dream of love, now a creditor that 
knocked at the door, and they saw his black hand be- 
tween their own when they dipped into the dish, and 
they heard his unpleasant voice in the silence of the 
night, that should have been disturbed only by pulse 
beats. He did not hinder their possessing each other, 
but he disturbed their happiness. And when they re- 
alized how his invisible power disturbed their happi- 
ness; when finally they eloped; they fled vainly from 
the remembrance which followed them, from the guilt 
they had left behind and the public opinion which 


























THE CREDITOR. 33 


frightened them; and they had not the strength to bear 
their guilt, so a scape-goat had to be brought in from 
the fields and slaughtered. They were freethinkers, but 
they did not dare go back and say to him boldly and 
openly “we love each other.” They were cowardly and, 
therefore, the tyrant had to be murdered! Is that cor- 
rect ¢ 


ADOLPH. 


Yes! But you forget that she made me, gave me 
new thoughts 





GUSTAVE. 


I don’t forget it! But tell me, how came it that she 
did not turn the other into a freethinker ? 


ADOLPH. 
He was an idiot! 


GUSTAVE. 


That is true, he was an idiot! But that is a very 
' ambiguous point, in her novel his idiocy is exhibited 
chiefly by the fact that he did not understand her. Par- 
don me, but is your wife really such a deep thinker? I 
have found nothing very deep in her writings. 


ADOLPH. 


Neither have I! But, I must own that it is very 
difficult for me, too, to understand her. It is as if the 
mechanism in our brains could not couple, as if some- 


34 THE CREDITOR. 


thing in my head gave way when I try to understand 
her. 


GUSTAVE. 
Possibly you also are an idiot 2 
ADOLPH. 
No, I don’t believe that. And I find almost always 
that she is wrong. Read this letter, for example, 


which I received to-day. (Takes letter from his 
pocket. ) 





GUSTAVE. 
(Reading hastily.) 
Hm, this style seems so familiar. 


ADOLPH. 
Masculine, almost ? 


GUSTAVE. 


Yes. At least, I have seen a man whose writing 
was similar! She addresses you as “brother.” Do 
you still play a comedy for your own benefit? The 
fig leaves are kept in place even if they are withered. 
Why are you not more familiar? 


ADOLPH. 


Because I feel that familiarity would lessen respect. 


THE CREDITOR. 35 


GUSTAVE. 


Ah, then she calls herself ‘‘sister” in order to instil 
respect ? 
ADOLPH. 


I want to respect her more than I do myself, want 
her to be my better self. 


GUSTAVE. 


Be your own better self! It is safer, probably, than 
letting someone else be it. Do you want to be less im- 
portant than your wife ? 


ADOLPH. 


Yes, I do! It rejoices me to be just a little less able 
than she is. For example, I taught her how to swim, 
and now it rather pleases me when she boasts that she 
swims better than I do. In the beginning I pretended 
to be less skillful, to be more cowardly than she, that 
T might give her courage, but one day I found that I 
was really the inferior and the coward. Actually, it 
seemed to me as if she had taken my courage from me! 


GUSTAVE. 
Did you teach her anything else ? 


ADOLPH. 


Yes, but this is in confidence, I taught her to write 
correctly, she couldn’t do it before. But, now listen, 


36 THE CREDITOR. 


when she began to attend to the household correspon- 
dence I stopped writing and, would you believe it, 
having ceased to use it, I find that I have forgotten my 
grammar here and there. She thinks, though, that it 
was she who taught me in the beginning. Surely, I am 
the idiot now! 

GUSTAVE. 


Aha, you are the idiot now, certainly! 
ADOLPH. 
You are jesting, of course! 
GUSTAVE. 
Oh, of course! But this is cannibalism! Do you 
know what that is? Savages eat their enemies to ab- 
sorb the courage of their dead foemen! She has 


devoured your soul, this woman; your courage, your 
knowledge—— 





ADOLPH. 


I drove her to write her first 





And my faith! 





book 
GUSTAVE. 
(Expressively.) 
Indeed ? 
ADOLPH. 


I encouraged her with praise, even when I consid- 
ered her work inadequate. I introduced her to lit- 





THE CREDITOR. 37 


erary circles where she could gather the honey of in- 
spiration. I protected her from adverse criticism, I 
blew the embers of her belief in herself; I blew so long 
that I lost my breath! I gave, I gave, I gave until 
I had nothing left. Do you know—now I will tell 
everything—I went so far—the soul is so strange— 
as to sacrifice my own art and to belittle my own repu- 
tation, when I found my artistic fame was apt to over- 
shadow hers. I spoke so long about the unimportant 
role played by painting when compared to the other 
arts that one fine day I convinced myself of its worth- 
lessness; so, after all, you have only blown down a 
house of cards! 





GUSTAVE. 


Pardon me for reminding you that in the beginning 
of our conversation you asserted that she never took 
anything from you. 

ADOLPH. 


Never at present! There is nothing left to take! 
GUSTAVE. 
The snake is gorged and now she vomits! 


ADOLPH. 


Possibly she has taken more from me than I realized! 


GUSTAVE. 


You may depend upon that. She took without your 
seeing and that is what one calls stealing. 


38 THE CREDITOR. 
ADOLPH. 
Possibly she taught me nothing ? 
GUSTAVE. 
But you taught her everything! Undoubtedly. But 


her cunning made you believe the contrary! May I 
ask how she began to teach you ? 


ADOLPH. 


Certainly! In the first place——hm! 





GUSTAVE. 
Well ? 

ADOLPH. 
Yes, I 

GUSTAVE. 
No, it was she! 

ADOLPH. 


Yes, I can tell you about it no longer! 


GUSTAVE. 
Now, you see! 
ADOLPH. 





However, she devoured my faith, and so I retro- 
graded until you came along and gave me new faith. 


THE CREDITOR. 39 


GUSTAVE. 
(Laughing.) 
In sculpture ? 
ADOLPH. 
(Faintly.) 
Yes! 
GUSTAVE. 


And you believe in it! In this obsolete art belonging 
to the childhood of the world? You believe you can 
present the true thought of the present with pure form, 
with the three dimensions? To create illusions with- 
out color, without color, do you hear! Do you believe 
that ? 


ADOLPH. 
(Crushed.) 
No! 
GUSTAVE. 
Nor do I! 
ADOLPH. 


Why did you say so then ? 


GUSTAVE. 


It was a pity! 
ADOLPH. 


Yes, it was a pity for me! Now I am bankrupt, I 
am at an end! And the worst of it is that I have 
her no longer! 





40 THE CREDITOR. 
GUSTAVE, 


What do you want with her ? 


ADOLPH. 


She has become to me what God was to me before I 
became an atheist; an object for the exercise of vener- 
ation. 





GUSTAVE. 


Throw aside your veneration and cultivate some- 
thing in its place! A little healthy scorn, for ex- 
ample! 

ADOLPH. 


I cannot live without esteeming something. 


GUSTAVE. 
Slave! 


ADOLPH. 


And without a woman to esteem, to honor. 


GUSTAVE. 


Phew! The devil! Then God have merey on 
you! You who insist on having something before 
which to make the sign of the cross. An atheist with 
feminine superstitions! A freethinker who cannot 
think freely about women! Do you know what your 





THE CREDITOR. 41 


wife’s incomprehensibility, her sphinx-like quality, 
her depth of mind really is ¢ Nothing but stupidity! 
See here, she can’t tell the difference between d 
and t; And, mark you, there is a fault in her mech- 
anism. The case is that of a clock, but the works are 
those of a watch! The clothes! Nothing but the 
clothes. Put her in trowsers and mark a moustache 
under her nose with a piece of charcoal, then listen to 
her with an unmuddled brain, and you will hear how 
different it all sounds. Only a phonograph which re- 
peats your words—and the words of others—a little 
bit toned down! Have you seen a naked woman? 
Yes, of course! A youth with teats on the breast, an 
undeveloped man, a child that has been shut up and 
stunted in its growth, a chronically anaemic being that 
has regular hemorrhages thirteen times a year! What 
can one expect from that ? 











ADOLPH. 


What you say may all be true, but then how can I 
believe that we are like each other ? 


GUSTAVE. 


Hallucination, the result of the clothes! Or, pos- 
sibly, because you have become like her. The level- 
ing has been accomplished. Her capillary attraction 
has sucked up the water until its level is the same in 
both of you. But (looking at his watch) we have been 
talking now for six hours and your wife must soon be 


42 THE CREDITOR. 


here, we had better stop now, in order that you may 
rest a little. 
ADOLPH. 


No, don’t leave me! I cannot bear to be alone! 
GUSTAVE. 

Oh, only a little while and your wife will be here! 
ADOLPH. 


Yes, she is coming! How wonderful! I long for 
her, and yet I am afraid of her. She caresses me, she 
is tender, yet there is something suffocating in her 
kisses, something which sucks out my life. And it 
seems to me as if I were a child in the cireus which the 
clown pinches back of the scenes that it may appear 
rosy before the public. 

GUSTAVE. 





My friend, I am sorry for you! Although I am not 
a physician, I can tell very well that you are dying. It 
is only necessary to look at your last picture to confirm 
that diagnosis. 
ADOLPH. 


What are you saying? How can that be? 
GUSTAVE. 


Your coloring is so thin and weak and watery that 
the tone of the canvas shows through it. I seem to see 
your sunken, putty-colored cheeks looking out from it. 


THE CREDITOR. 43 


ADOLPH. 
Stop! Stop! 
GuSsTAVE. 


But this is not my personal opinion alone. Have you 
read to-day’s newspapers ? 


ADOLPH. 


(Gathering himself together.) 
No! 


GUSTAVE. 
They are here on the table. 
ADOLPH. 


(Reaches for the newspaper as if he did not dare 
tauch it.) 
Is it there ? 
GUSTAVE. 


Read! Or shall I read it to you? 
ApotpH. 


No! No! No! I don’t know I believe I am 
beginning to hate you, and yet I cannot let you go. 
You released me from my swaddlings, but when I came 
out happily you hit me on the head and bound me up 
again! As long as I kept my secret to myself I had 
bowels, but now I am empty. There is a picture by an 








44 THE CREDITOR. 


Italian master which represents a torture chamber in 
which a saint is having his intestines wound out of him 
on a capstan. The martyr lies there and sees himself 
growing thinner and thinner and the roll on the reel 
growing ever thicker ! So, I believe you have disem- 
boweled me, and when you go you will take my entrails 
with you and leave a mere shell behind. 





GUSTAVE. 





Oh, how you fancy things! Besides, isn’t your 


wife coming home with your heart ? 
ADOLPH. 

No. She has it no longer, since you branded her in 
my sight. You have left everything in ashes behind 
you, my art, my love, my hope, my faith! 

GUSTAVE. 
Practically, they were gone before. 


ADOLPH. 


Yes, but they might have been resuscitated! Now it 
is too late, you incendiary ! 


GUSTAVE. 


We have only burned away the underbrush. Now we 
can sow in the ashes. 


THE CREDITOR. 45 
ADOLPH. 
T hate you! I curse you! 


GUSTAVE. 


A good sign! You still have some strength! Now I 
shall lift you up again! Listen tome! Will you listen 
to me and obey me? 

ADOLPH. 


Do with me what you will! I will obey! 


GUSTAVE. 


(Rising. ) 
Look at me! 
ADOLPH. 


(Looking at Gustave.) 


Now you are looking at me again with those eyes 
that draw me to you! 
GUSTAVE. 
Now, listen to me! 
ADOLPH. 


Yes, but speak of yourself! Speak of me no longer; 
T am like a wounded man and can find no tranquility. 


GUSTAVE. 


No, there is nothing to say about myself! I am pro- 


46 THE CREDITOR. 





fessor of dead languages and a widower, that is all! 
Take my hand! 
ADOLPH. 


What frightful strength you must have. It is as if 
one grasped an electric battery. 


GUSTAVE. 
And remember that once I was just as weak as you 


are now! Get up! 
ADOLPH. 





(Rises and falls on Gustave’s neck.) 
T am like a boneless child and my brain is empty! 
GUSTAVE. 
Walk about the room! 
ADOLPH. 
T can’t! 
GUSTAVE. 
You shall or I will beat you! 
ADOLPH. 
(Righting himself.) 


What do you say? 


THE CREDITOR. 47 

GUSTAVE. 

T will strike you, I said. 
ADOLPH. 

(Springing backward angrily.) 

You! 
GUSTAVE. 

You see! Now your blood is in your head and your 


self consciousness has awakened! Now I will give you 
some magnetism. Where is your wife ? 








ADOLPH. 
Where is she? 

GUSTAVE. 
Yes! 

ADOLPH. 
She is at a meeting! 

GUSTAVE. 
Ts that certain! 

ADOLPH. 
Absolutely ! 

GuSTAVE. 


What kind of a meeting? 
ADOLPH. 


For the founding of a children’s home. 


48 THE CREDITOR. 
GUSTAVE, 
Did you part as friends? 
ADOLPH. 
(Uneasily.) 


Well, not as enemies. 


GUSTAVE. 





As enemies then! You irritated her ? 


ADOLPH. 


You are frightful! I am afraid of you! How can 
you know ? 


GUSTAVE. 


I have three facts and I simply calculate the unknown 
from them! What did you say to her? 





ADOLPH. 





I said it was only two words, but they were 
dreadful and I regret them, I regret them! 


GUSTAVE. 


You must not do that! 





Repeat them! 


THE CREDITOR. 49 


ADOLPH. 
I said “Old coquette !” 


GUSTAVE. 
And then ? 
ADOLPH. 


I said nothing more. 


GUSTAVE. 


fa e 
Yes, you did, but you have forgotten; probably be- 
cause you did not want to remember! You have hid- 
den it in forgetfulness, but recall it now. 


ADOLPH. 
I cannot recollect! 
GUSTAVE. 


But I know! You said: “You ought to be ashamed 
to flirt, you who are so old that you can find lovers no 
longer !”” 


ADOLPH. 


But how 





Did I say that? I must have said that! 
can you know ? 


GUSTAVE. 


I heard her tell the story on the steamboat which 
brought me here. 
ADOLPH. 
To whom ? 


50 THE. CREDITOR: 
GUSTAVE. 


To four young men who accompanied her! She still 
longs for the very young just as 





ADOLPH. 

That is very innocent! 

GUSTAVE. 

Just as one plays brother and sister when one is papa 
and mama! 

ADOLPH. 

You have seen her then ? 

GUSTAVE. 

Yes, I have! But you have never seen her when you 
did not see her! I mean when you were not present! 
And see here, that’s the reason why a man really never 
sees his wife! Have you a picture of her? 

(Adolph takes a picture out of his breast pocket.) 

GUSTAVE. 


You were not with her when this was taken ? 


ADOLPH. 


No. 


THE CREDITOR. 51 
GUSTAVE. 


Look at this! Is it like the portrait you painted of 
her ¢ No! The features are the same, but the ex- 
pression is different. Lut you did not see that because 
you had your own picture in your mind! Look at 
this as a painter, without thinking of the original! 
What does it look like? I can see nothing but a made- 
up coquette, made up for conquest. Look at this cyn- 
ical line about the mouth, which you seem to have 
overlooked ; see how the eyes are seeking a man who is 
not there; see how the dress is cut away; how the hair 
has been combed and combed again; how the sleeves 
have been pushed up high? Do you see? 











ADOLPH. 





now I see it all! 


Yes 
GUSTAVE. 


Take care to protect yourself, young man! 


ApDoLPH 
From what ? 


GUSTAVE. 


From her revenge! Remember how you wounded her 
in her most vulnerable spot by saying that she can at- 
tract a man no longer. If you had said that her writ- 
ings were trash she would have laughed at your poor 


52 THE CREDITOR. 





taste, but now believe me, if she has not revenged 
herself already it is not her fault. 


ADOLPH. 
Must I suffer that! 


GUSTAVE. 
Seek to gain by it! 


ADOLPH. 
Seek to gain by it! 


GUSTAVE. 


Look to it. I will help you, if you lke. 


ADOLPH. 


Yes, as I have to die it might as well be sooner as 
later! What is to be done? 





GUSTAVE. 


First, some information. Has your wife a single 
vulnerable point ? 


ADOLPH. 


Searcely! She must have nine lives, like a cat! 


GUSTAVE. 





Indeed! There is the steamer whistling in the 
dock. She will be here presently. 


THE CREDITOR. 53 
ApoupH. 


Then I must go down and meet her! 


GUSTAVE. 


No, you must stop here. You must be rude! If she 
has a clean conscience, you will find a shower of hail 
about your ears; if she is guilty, she will come and 
caress you! 


ADOLPH. 


Are you sure of this ? 


GUSTAVE. 


Not entirely, for at times the hare turns hunter and 
sets traps. But I will soon get you out of them. My 
room is next to this. (Points to the door on the right 
behind the chair.) I will post myself there and watch 
while you play your part here. Then, when you are 
exhausted, we will change the rdles; I will go into the 
cage and work with the snake while you look through 
the keyhole. Afterward we will meet in the park and 
compare notes. But be a man! If I see you weaken- 
ing I will knock twice with a chair on the floor. 


‘ADOLPH. 


That’s arranged! But do not go out, I must be 
sure that you are in the next room! 


54 THE CREDITOR. 


GUSTAVE. 





You may be certain of that But don’t be fright- 
ened later on when you see me dissect a human soul 
and lay its entrails out here on the table; it gives a 
beginner the shudders, but when one has seen it once 
it worries one no longer! Remember one thing! 
Not a word that you have met me, or even that you 
have made an acquaintance during her absence! Not 
a word! Her weak point I will discover myself! 
Silence! There she is already, overhead in your 
room! She is singing to herself! Then she is off her 
guard! So, with the back just so; sit on your own 
chair, then she will have to sit on mine, and then I can 
see both of you at once! 








ApoLPH. 





No visitors have come, 
So we shall be alone— 


It is an hour yet to noon. 
for the bell has not rung. 
unfortunately ! 





GUSTAVE. 
Are you weak ? 
ADOLPH. 





T am not! But I am afraid of what is coming. 
The stone rolls, but it was not the last drop of water 
that loosened it from its foundations, nor was it the 
first—it was all of them together! 


GUSTAVE. 





Let it roll then honor will not allow it to rest. 


Good-by for a while! ((oes.) 





THE CREDITOR. 55 


(Adolph nods good-by ; tears in half the photograph 
Ire has been holding and throws the pieces under the 
table; then sits down in the chair, fingers his collar 
nervously ; fumbles with the lapels of his coat, etc.) 


THEKLA. 


(Enters, goes directly to him and kisses him 1m friendly, 
open, joyous, and captivating fashion.) 


Good-morning, little brother! How are you? 
ADOLPH. 

(Half conquered, struggling to resist, jokingly.) 
What have you been doing bad that you kiss me? 
THEKLA. 

You shall hear about it! I have squandered a 
frightful amount of money! 
ADOLPH. 


Was it interesting ? 


THEKLA. 





Very! But ll tell you about the meeting later 
How has little brother amused himself while his wife 
was absent? (Looks about the room as if she sought 
someone or scented something.) 


ApoLPH. 


I have only been bored with loneliness. 


56 THE CREDITOR. 


THEKLA. 
And no visitors 2 

ADOLPH. 
Entirely alone! 

THEKLA. 


(Observes him critically. Sits down im the charse 


longue. ) 
Who has been sitting here ? 


ADOLPH. 
There? Nobody! 
THEKLA. 


That is peculiar. The seat is still warm and here 
in the arm cushion is still the hollow made by an elbow! 
Have you been entertaining a woman 4 


ADOLPH, 


You don’t believe that yourself! 


THEKLA. 


But you are blushing! TI believe little brother is 
flunking ? Come and tell his wife what he has in 
his thoughts! (Draws him to her. He sinks down 
with his head on her knee.) 





THE CREDITOR. 57 
ADOLPH. 
(Laughing.) 
You are a little devil, do you know that? 
THEKLA. 
No, I know myself so little. 
ADOLPH. 
You never think about yourself. 
THEKLA. 


(On her guard and observant.) 





I think only of myself: I am frightfully egotis- 
tical! But how philosophic you have become! 





ADOLPH. 

Lay your hand on my forehead. 
THEKLA. 

(Playfully.) 


Are the ants in his head again? Shall I chase them 
out? (Kisses his forehead.) There! Is that good? 


58 THE CREDITOR: 
ADOLPH. 


It is good! 


(Pause. ) 
THEKLA. 


Tell me how you have employed your time. 
anything ? 


ADOLPH. 

No, I have given up painting. 
THEKLA. 

What? You have given up painting? 


ADOLPH. 


Yes, but don’t quarrel with me about that. 


help that I can paint no longer. 
THEKLA. 
Then what will you do? 
ADOLPH. 
I shall become a sculptor! 


THEKLA. 


So many new ideas! 


Painted 


I can’t 


THE CREDITOR. 59 


ADOLPH. 
Yes, but don’t dispute them now. Look at this 
figure! 


THEKLA. 
(Examining the wax figure.) 


Only see that! Who is it? 


‘ADOLPH. 
Guess! 
THEKLA. 
(Softly.) 
Ts that intended for his wife? Isn’t he ashamed of 
himself ! 
‘ADOLPH. 
Isn’t it like her ? 
THEKLA. 


How can I tell, when it has no face. 


‘ADOLPH. 


beautiful ! 





Yes, but it has so much else that is 


60 THE CREDITOR. 


THEKLA. 
(Strokes him caressingly on the cheek.) 


He must hold his tongue, or I will kiss him. 


ADOLPH. 
(Drawing back.) 


No, no, somebody might come in! 


THEKLA. 


What’s that to me! Is it possible that I may not 
kiss my own husband. That is my legal right. 


ApoLPH. 


Yes, but do you know one thing? They think here 
in the hotel that we are not married because we kiss 
each other so often! Our occasional quarrels do not 
shake their belief, because lovers quarrel, too! 


THEKLA. 


But why must we quarrel? Can’t he always be as 
good as he is now? Answer! Doesn’t he want to? 


Wouldn’t he like us to be happy? 


ApOoLPH. 
Wouldn’t he like it! But 





THEKLA. 


Well, what is it now? Who has put it into his head 
not to paint ? 


THE CREDITOR. 61 
ADOLPR. 


Who? You are always suspecting that somebody is 
behind me and my thoughts! You are jealous! 


THEKLA. 


Yes, I am indeed! I am afraid that somebody will 
come and take you away from me! 


ADOLPH. 
You are afraid of that, when you know that no 
woman could replace you, and that without you I 


could not live! 
THEKLA. 


No, I’m not afraid of women, but of strangers that 
might take everything from you! 


ADOLPH. 
(Scrutinizing her.) 
You are afraid of them—of whom are you afraid ? 
THEEKLA. 
( Rising.) 


Somebody has been here! Who has been here? 


62 THE CREDITOR. 


ADOLPH. 

Don’t you want me to look at you? 
THEKLA. 

Not in that way, you are not used to look at me so! 
ADOLPH. 

How am I looking at you? 


THEKLA. 





You look under your eyelids 
ADOLPH. 


Under yours! Yes! I want to see what is behind 
them ! 


THEKLA. 


Well, see! There is nothing which has to be hidden. 
But you speak differently also———you use ex- 
pressions (inquisitively ) you philosophise 
you? (Goes threatenly up to him.) Who has been 
here ? 

















‘AADOLPH. 


Nobody but my doctor! 


THE CREDITOR. 63 
THEKLA. 
Your doctor! Who is your doctor? 
ADOLPH. 


The doctor from Strémstad. 


THEKLA, 
What’s his name ? 
ADOLPH. 
Sjoberg. 
THEKLA. 
What does he say ¢ 
ADOLPH. 
He says yes, he said, among other things, 











that I was on the verge of epilepsy 
THEKLA. 


Among other things? What else did he say ? 


ADOLPH. 
It was something very unpleasant ! 
THEKLA. 


Tell me! 
ADOLPH. 


He forbade us to live together as husband and wife 
for a very long time. 


64 THE CREDITOR: 
THEKLA. 


See there, didn’t I think so! Somebody wants to 
part us! I have known that for a long time! 


ADOLPH. 
You couldn’t have, because it was not so until now! 


THEKLA. 
Haven’t I? 
ADOLPH. 


How can you see what is not present, unless fear 
works so upon your imagination that you see what does 
not exist. What frightens you? Are you afraid that 
I may borrow the eyes of another, in order to see you 
as you really are, and not as you appear to be to me? 

THEKLA. 

Hold your phantasy in check, Adolph! That is the 

beast in the human soul. 


ADOLPH. 


Where have you learned that? From the young men 
on the steamboat? What? 


THEKLA. 
(Without losing her composure.) 


Yes, one can often learn from the young. 


THE CREDITOR. 65 


ADOLPH. 


I believe you are beginning to fall in love with young 
men ! 
mn ¥ 
PHEKLA. 


I have done so already, and that’s the way I won 
your love. Have you anything against that ¢ 


ADOLPH. 
No, but I had rather be the only one! 
THEKLA. 
(Babbling jokingly.) 


My heart is so big, little brother, that there is room 
in it for many, not only for him. 


‘ADOLPH. 


Bué little brother doesn’t want any more brothers! 
a 


THEKLA. 


Come to his wife then. He shall be torn to pieces 
because he is jealous no, envious is the right word! 





(Two thuds with a chair are heard from Gustave’s 


room. ) 
‘ADOLPH. 


No, I don’t want to play; I want to talk seriously! 


66 THE CREDITOR. 
THEKLA. 
( Babbling.) 
Lord, he wants to talk seriously! It is frightful how 


earnest he has become. (Takes him by the head and 
kisses him.) He must laugh a little! So, yes! 








ADOLPH. 
(Laughing unwillingly.) 


You fascinating creature, I really believe you can 
bewitch! 


THEKLA. 


Does he think so! Then he mustn’t grumble, or I 
will cast a spell over him. 


ADOLPH. 
(Standing.) 


Thekla, stand for a minute with your profile toward 
me and I will put the face on your figure. 


THEKLA. 


Very well. (Turns her profile toward him.) 


THE CREDITOR. 67 


ADOLPH. 


(Looks fixedly at her, pretends to be modeling.) 


Don’t think about me now. Think about someone 
else. 
THEKLA. 


I will think about my last conquest. 


ADOLPH. 
The callow youth 4 


THEKLA. 





Just of him! He had such a sweet little mustache, 
and his cheeks were like peaches, they were so tender 
and delicate that one felt like biting them! 


ADOLPH. 

(Darkly. ) 
Hold that expression of the mouth! 

THEKLA. 
What expression ? 

ADOLPH. 


That cynical, shameless expression T have never seen 


there before! 
THEKLA. 


(Makes a grimace.) 
This one ? 


68 THE CREDITOR. 


ADOLPH. 


Just that! (Starting.) Do you know how Bret 
Harte depicts an adulteress ? 


THEKLA. ° 
(Laughinq.) 
No! I have never read Bret What’s-his-name! 
ADOLPH. 
She is a pale woman who never blushes! 


THEKLA. 


Never! When she gets her lover she will blush, even 
if he and Mr. Bret don’t see it. 


ADOLPH. 
‘You are that way then ? 


THEKLA. 


Yes, if the man can’t drive the blood to her head he 
misses the prettiest sight! 


ApoLpH. 


(Furious. ) 
Thekla! 


THE CREDITOR. 69 


THEKLA. 
Little stupid! 

ADOLPH. 
Thekla! 

THEKLA. 


He must say “wife,” then I will blush for him pret- 
tily! Shall I? Tell me. 


ADOLPH. 
(Disarmed.) 
T am so angry with you, you little beast, that I want 
to bite you! 
THEKLA. 


(Acting.) 


Come then and bite me! 
arms for him.) 





Come! (Opens her 
ADOLPH. 
(Taking her about the neck and kissing her.) 
I will bite you so that you will die! 
THEKLA. 
(Teasingly.) 


Take care, somebody might come! 


70 THEVCREDITOR: 
ADOLPH. 


What is that to me! I care nothing about the whole 
world so long as I have you! 
THEKLA. 


‘And if you should lose me? 


ADOLPH. 
Then I should die! 
THEKUA. 
Yes, but you aren’t afraid, because I am so old that 
nobody will take me! 
ADOLPH. 
Thekla, you have not forgoten my words! I take 
them back now! 
THEKLA. 
Can you explain why you are so jealous and yet feel 
so secure of me at the same time? 
ADOLPH. 


No, I cannot explain it. But it is possible that the 
thought that another has had you lies in me and germi- 
nates. At times it seems to me as if all our love were a 
poem, a defense, a passion turned into an affair of 
honor; and I do not know what would torment me more 


THE CREDITOR. cial 
than for him to know that I am unhappy. Ah, I have 
never scen him, but the thought that a man exists who 
sits and waits for my unhappiness; who curses me daily, 
and who will laugh aloud when I fall; the idea of this 
obsesses me, drives me to you, fascinates me, lames me! 

THERKLA. 
Do you believe that I would permit him that hap- 
piness. Do you believe that I should like to see his 


prophecy fulfilled ? 
ADOLPH. 


No, I don’t want to believe that! 
THEKLA. 

Then cannot you be tranquil in mind ? 
ADOLPH. 


No, you disturb me constantly with your coquettish- 
ness! Why do you act that comedy ? 


THEKLA, 
It is no comedy. I want to be loved, that is all. 
ADOLPH. 


Yes, but only by the men! 


72 THE OREDITOR: 
THEKLA. 


Naturally! For, you know, a woman can never be 
loved by women! 


ADOLPH. 





Tell me! Have you heard—from him lately ? 


THEKa. 
Not since half a year ago. 

ADOLPH. 
Don’t you think of him ? 


THEKLA. 





No! Sinee the child died we have had no com- 
munication with each other. 


ADOLPH. 
And you have not even seen him on the street ? 
'THEKLA. 


No. He must have moved to some other place. But 
why are you bothering your head about such trifles ? 


TELE CREDITOR: 73 
ADOLPH. 


T don’t know. But the last day that I was alone I 
kept thinking how lonely he must have felt when he 
found himself alone. , 

THEKLA. 


I believe you have qualms of conscience! 
ADOLPH. 


Yes! 


THEKLA. 


You feel as if you were a thief, don’t you? 


ADOLPH. 


Almost ! 
THEKLA. 


That is charming! Women can be stolen just like 
children and chickens! You look upon me as his per- 
sonal goods and chattles! Thank you very much! 


ADOLPH. 
No, I regard you as his wife! And that is more 


than mere property! That cannot be paid for! 


THEKLA. 


Ah, prove it! If you heard that he had married 
again all your worry would stop! You compensate 
me for his loss! 





14 CEE CORE DT TOR, 


ADOLPH. 





Have I done so? Did you love him ? 





THEKLA. 
Certainly I did! 

ADOLPH. 
And then: 

THEKLA. 


I became tired of him! 


ADOLPH. 


Think, you may become tired of me! 


THEKLA. 


That I shall never be! 


ADOLPH. 


If another should come who embodied, or even as- 
sumed the characteristics that you now look for in a 
man! Then you would leave me! 


THEKLA. 
No! 


‘ApOLPH. 


Suppose he fascinated you so that you could not 
leave him; then, naturally, you would leave me! 


THE CREDITOR. 75 
THEKLA. 
No, that is not certain! 
ADOLPH. 
You cannot love two at the same time ? 
THEKLA. 
Why not? 
ADOLPH. 
I don’t understand it! 
THEKLA. 


But a thing can exist whether you understand it or 
not. All people are rot «yeated the same! 


ADOLPH. 
Now I begin to understand! 


THEKLA. 
No, really! 
ADOLPH. 


No, really! (Pause during which Adolph appears 
to attempt to recall something, but without success.) 
Thekla, do you know your candor begins to be torment- 


ing. 


76 THE CREDITOR. 


THEKLA. 


And yet candor is your greatest virtue, and the one 
you taught me! 
ADOLPH. 


Yes, but it seems to me as if you hid behind this 
candor ! 
THEKLA. 


That’s the new school of tactics, you see! 


ADOLPH. 


I don’t know why, but I am growing uncomfortable 
in this place. Suppose we journey homeward this 
evening! 

THEKLA. 


What an idea! [ve just arrived and have no desire 
to travel again! 
ADOLPH. 


But I want to! 


THEKLA. 


What difference does that make to me, what you 
want! Travel alone! 





ADOLPH. 


Now I command you to take the next steamer with 
me! 


THE CREDITOR. xii 


THEKLA. 


Command! What kind of talk is that ? 
ADOLPH. 
Do you forget that you are my wife? 
THEKLA. 
Do you forget that you are my husband 2 
ADOLPH. 
There is a difference between the one and the other! 


THEKLA. 


You have never 





Aha, do you speak in that tone! 
loved me! 
‘ADOLPH. 


No? 
THEKLA. 
No, loving is giving! 


ADOLPH. 


Lari 9 . e . e 3 . [en ! 
A man’s love consists in giving; a woman’s, in taking! 
‘And T have given, given, given! 


78 THE CREDITOR. 
THEKLA. 
What have you given ? 


ADOLPH. 
Everything ! 
THEKLA. 


That is too much! And if it were true, I have taken 
it. Do you want to bring in a bill for your presents ? 
And if I have taken, I have showed thereby that I loved 
you! A woman takes presents only from her lover! 


ADOLPH. 


Lover! Yes! There you speak the truth. I have 
been your lover, but never your husband! 


THEKLA. 


It would be so much pleasanter to go without a cloak! 
But, if you are not satisfied with your position, 
you may take your leave. I don’t want any husband! 





ADoLpH. 


So I have noticed! Only the other day I saw how 
you shrank away from me like a thief, in order to move 
in other company, where you could shine in my feathers 
and sparkle in my jewels. That’s why I reminded you 
of your debt. That’s why I changed into the unpleas- 
ant creditor one wants most to keep at a distance. 


THE CREDITOR. 79 


That’s why you want to turn the tables and seek other 
shrines than mine, so as not to increase your debt to me! 
It was against my will that I became your husband and, 
therefore, you hate me! Now I will be your husband, 
whether you like it or not, because I dare not be your 
lover! 

THEKLA. 


(Coquettishly.) 
Don’t talk such nonsense, you little idiot! 
ADOLPH. 


Tt is dangerous to believe that everybody is an idiot 
except oneself! 
THEKLA. 


But everybody believes that a little bit! 


ADOLPH. 


And I am beginning to suspect that he—your former 
husband—might not have been an idiot! 


THEKLA. 


Oh, Lord! I believe you are beginning to sympathize 
with him! 
ADOLPH. 
Yes, nearly! 


80 THE CREDITOR. 


THEKLA, 





See there! You would lke to make his acquaint- 
ance, possibly to pour out your whole heart to him! 
What lovely husbands! But I myself begin to feel 
drawn to him; I am tired of being a child’s nurse. He 
was a man, at least, even if he had the disadvantage of 
being my own! 





ADOLPH. 


Do you see!——But we must not speak so loud, 
somebody might hear us! 


THEKLA. 


What difference does that make if they think we are 
married ¢ 


ADOLPH. 


Then you begin to hanker for the manly men, as well 
as for the very young. 


THEKLA. 
My longing has no limits, as you see, and my heart 


is open to all, large and small, handsome and ugly, 
young and old. I love the whole world! 


‘ADOLPH. 


Do you know what that means ? 


THE CREDITOR. 81 


THEKLA, 


No, I don’t know anything, I only feel! 


ADOLPH. 


It means that you are old! 


THEKLA. 


Are you at that again! Take care! 


ADOLPH. 


Take care, yourself! 


THEKLA. 
Of what ? 
ADOLPH. 
Of my knife! 
THEKLA. 
( Babbling.) 


Little brother must not play with such dangerous 
things! 
ADOLPH. 


I am playing no longer! 


THEKLA. 


So, so, you are in earnest! Entirely in earnest. 
Then I will show you—that you are mistaken! That 


82 THE CREDITOR. 


is—you will not see it, you will not comprehend it, 
but the whole world shall know it; all will suspect it, 
will guess it, and you will never have another peaceful 
hour. You will feel that you are laughed at, that you 
are deceived, but you will never be able to lay your 
hands on the evidence; a husband can never do that! 
That’s what you can learn! 


Apoupn. 
You hate me? 
THEKLA. 


No, that I don’t, and I don’t believe I ever should. 
Possibly because you are a child! 


‘ADOLPH. 


Yes, now! But do you remember when we weathered 
the storm! Then you lay like a baby and cried; then 
I had to hold you in my arms and had to kiss your 
eyes to sleep. Then I was the nurse. I had to see that 
you didn’t go about unkempt; had to send your shoes to 
the cobbler’s; had to attend to the marketing even! I 
had to sit beside you and hold your hand for hours at 
a time, because you were afraid, afraid of the whole 
world, because you had not a friend left and public 
opinion was against you. I had to talk encouragingly to 
you until my tongue was dry and my head was aching; 
I had to sit there and force myself to be strong; to 
compel myself to believe in the future. Then I suc- 
ceeded in bringing you back to life, you who had lain 
like one dead! Then you admired me. Then I was 


THE CREDITOR. 83 


your man indeed, not that athlete whom you had left, 
but a strong-souled magnetizer, whose will power flowed 
into your weak muscles and induced new thoughts to 
fill your empty brain. And so I consoled you, provided 
you with friends, created a little court where you 
could be admired, set you over me and over my house. 
Then I used you as a model for my best pictures, 
painted you in rose and azure against a golden back- 
ground, and there was no exhibition at which your 
face did not appear upon the line. Now you were 
Saint Cecilia, now Mary Stuart, now this or that her- 
oine of history, and I awakened interest in you and 
fairly drove the masses into seeing you with my infat- 
uated eyes. I pushed forward your personality until 
you had won general sympathy—and could walk alone! 

When you were able to do that, my strength was at 
an end and I collapsed from over-exertion I had 
helped you up and had fallen myself. I became sick, 
and my sickness wearied you, just when life began to 
smile for you again and at times it seems to me 
that you longed secretly to rid yourself of me, as a 
ereditor and as a witness of your weakness. Your love 
began to assume the character of that of an elder sister 
and, in fault of a better, I accustomed myself to the 
role of little brother. Your fondness for me is still 
alive, even stronger than before, but it is mixed with 
a measure of compassion and a considerable amount of 
contempt, which rises to scorn as my talent declines and 
your sun rises. 

But, it appears, your well spring of inspiration is 
drying up, now that I can serve as it no longer, or, 
to speak more correctly, since you do not wish it known 








84 THE CREDITOR. 


that you drew from me. And now you must have some- 
body who can be responsible for your fault. A new 
one! Because you are too weak to carry a debt of sin 
on your own shoulders I was made the scapegoat that 
had to be cut up alive! But, as you cut through my 
nerves, you did not realize that you were mutilating 
yourself, that we had grown to be like twins, so that 
what hurt one injured the other. You were a sprout 
from my bush, but you wanted your sprout to flower 
before it had roots, and, therefore, you cannot grow by 
yourself. On the other hand, the original plant cannot 
survive the loss of its hmb—and thus both are dying! 


THEKLA. 
By all this you want to say that you wrote my book! 
ADOLPH. 
No. You want me to say that in order to trap me 
into a lie I do not express myself as crudely as 
you do, and I have spoken for five minutes in order to 


include all the nuances, all the halftones, all the over- 
tones. Your lyre has but one tone! 





THEKLA. 
Yes, yes, but the sum of all this is that you wrote my 
book ¢ 


ADOLPH. 


No, it has no resumé! You can’t make a chord from 
3 


THE CREDITOR. 85 
one tone, you can’t find a simple arithmetical formula 
for a variagated life. I have said nothing so lame as 
that I have written your book! 

THEKLA. 


But that is what you mean! 


ADOLPH. 


(Beside himself.) 
I didn’t mean that! 


THEKLA. 





But the sum 
ADOLPH. 


(Wildly.) 


There can be no sum when one does not add; there 
is a quotient, a long endless row of decimal figures as 
a quotient, when one divides, and the result is uneven. 


I have not added! 


THEKLA. 


No, but I can add! 


ADOLPH. 


I believe it of you, but I haven’t done so! 


THEKLA, 


But you wanted to do it! 


86 THE CREDITOR: 
ADOLPH. 


(Helplessly closing his cyes.) 





No! no! no! speak to me no longer! IT shall 
have a convulsion! Keep still! Go away! You 
are ruining my brain with your torturer’s pincers! 
You stick your teeth into my thoughts and tear them 
to pieces. (Becomes unconscious, stares before him, 
and turns his thumbs inward.) 








THEKLA. 
(Tenderly.) 


What’s the matter with you? Are you ill?—— 
Adolph! 


(Adolph turns away.) 


THEKLA. 
Adolph! 


(Adolph shakes his head.) 


THEKLA. 
Adolph! 

ADOLPH. 
Yes! 

THEKLA. 


Do you see how wrong you were just now? 


THE CREDITOR. 87 
ADOLPH. 


Yes, yes, yes, yes, I see! 


THEKLA. 


And do you ask my pardon? 


ADOLPH. 


Yes, yes, I ask your pardon! Now don’t say any- 
thing more to me! 
THEKLA. 


Kiss my hand! 


ADOoLPH. 
(Kisses her hand.) 


T have kissed your hand! Now don’t say anything 
more to me! 


THEKLA. 


Now go out of doors and breathe fresh air until 
noon! 


‘ADOLPH. 


Yes, I need some! Then we will pack up and leave 
here! 
THEKLA. 


No! 


88 THE CREDITOR. 
ADOLPH. 
( Going.) 
Why not? You must have a reason! 


THEKLA. 


For the reason that I have promised to take part in 
a soiree to-day. 
ADOLPH. 
That’s why, then! 
THEKLA. 


That’s why! That's why! I have promised to be 
there 





ADOLPH. 


Promised. You said possibly you expected to be 
there and that does not hinder you now from saying 
that you expect not to be there. 


THEKLA. 


No, I am not like you, I keep my word! 


ADOLPH. 


One should keep an oath, but it is not necessary to 
keep a light promise. Has anyone exacted a promise 
from you? 


THE GREDITOR. 89 
THEKLA. 
Yes. 


ADOLPH. 


Then you can ask him to release you from it, be- 
cause your husband is ill. 


THEKLA. 
No, I won’t. You are not too ill to come with me! 
ADOLPH. 


Why do you always want me to be with you? Do 
you feel safer that way ? 


THEKLA. 
I don’t understand what you mean. 
ADOLPH. 


You always say that when you know that I mean 
something—which you don’t like! 





THEKLA. 
In-dee-d! What do I object to, now? 


‘ApoLpH. 





Silence! Silence! We are beginning again! 


90 THE CREDITOR. 
Good-by for a little while! And be careful what you 
do! (Goes through the door at the back and then 
leaves the stage by the right.) 

(Lhekla alone. Shortly after, Gustave enters and 


goes directly to the table as if to get a newspaper, ap- 
parently without seeeng Thekla.) 


THEKLA. 
(Disturbed, masters herself.) 


Is it you? 
GUSTAVE. 


Tt is I. Pardon me! 
THEKLA. 

How did you reach here ? 
GUSTAVE. 


By the land, but 








I will not stay, since 


THEKLA. 





You may stay! Tt has been a long while! 


GUSTAVE. 
Tt is a long while! 


TEE, CRhEDELOR: 91 
THEKLA. 


You are changed very much! 


GUSTAVE. 


And you are just as charming as ever! If anything, 
younger looking! But, forgive me, I will not em- 
bitter your happiness by my presence! Had I known 
you were here, I should never 








THEKLA. 


I beg you to remain, if you do not consider it indeli- 
cate. 


GUSTAVE. 


I see no reason why I shouldn’t, but what I think, 
and what I say might hurt your feelings. 


THEKLA. 
Sit down for a moment, you do not embarrass me, 


because you have the unusual ability, as you had al- 
ways, of being tactful and polite. 


GusTAVE. 





You are too good! But, is it not likely that your 
husband would regard my presence here in a different 


light 2 


92 THE CREDITOR. 


THEKLA. 


On the contrary, he has often spoken of you with 
sympathy. 
GUSTAVE. 





Ah! All wounds heal, just as wood grows over 
names cut in a tree—and frequently our good nature 
makes us forget a grudge. 


THEKLA. 


He never had a grudge against you, because he 
never saw you. What I have often dreamed and 
hoped was to see you friends for a moment—or at least 
to see you shake hands in my presence and then part. 





GUSTAVE. 


It has been my secret desire to see you—whom T 
loved more than life—in really good hands. And, in- 
deed, I have heard much good of him. I know all of 
his works and have often wished, before I grew old, 
to grasp his hand and bid bim take good care of the 
treasure Providence has placed in his possession. I 
desire to free myself of this unwelcome dislike, and I 
want joy and humility to enter my soul and help me to 
live during the rest of my sad life. 


THEKLA. 


You have spoken my own thoughts and have under- 
stood me. Thank you for that! 





TILE CREDITOR. 93 
GUSTAVE. 


. Ah, I am an insignificant man and was too obscure 
to cast a protecting shadow over you. My uneventful 
life, my slavish labor, my narrow circle, were too great 
restrictions for your soul, thirsting for freedom. I see 
it now! But you understand, you who have plumbed 
the depths of a man’s soul, what it has cost me to con- 
fess this! 





THEKLA. 


That is noble, that is big; to be able to admit one’s 
weaknesses—and not everybody ean do that. (Sighs.) 
But your nature was always candid, true and forgiving 
I cherished that—but 











GUSTAVE. 





I was not so 
us, tribulations enoble us and 


I was never so, but trouble purifies 
I have suffered! 





THEKLA. 





Poor Gustave! 
Tell me? 


Can you forgive me? Can you? 


GUSTAVE. * 


Pardon you? What? 





T ask pardon for myself! 


THEKLA. 
(Turns away.) 


T believe we are almost crying, we old people! 


94 THE CREDITOR. 


GUSTAVE. 
(Turns away gently.) 


Old! Yes, I am old! But you, you grow younger 
and younger! 


(Sits down as if unthinkingly on the chair to the 
left, whereupon Thekla takes the chaise longue.) 


THEKLA. 


Do you think so? 


GUSTAVE. 
And then you understand how to dress! 


THEKLA. 


You taught me that! Don’t you remember, you 
used to select my colors! 


GUSTAVE. 
No! 
THEKLA. 


You did! Can’t you remember—hm—I remember 
you were cross with me whenever I didn’t wear some 
thing in pastel colors! 


THE CREDITOR. 95 
GUSTAVE. 
Cross with you! I was never cross with you! 
THERLA. 
Yes you were, when you tried to teach me how to 


think. Do you remember? I never have been able 
to learn to think! 





GUSTAVE. 


Why, of course, you can think! And now you have 
grown almost too sharp; when you write, at least! 


THEKLA. 


(Uncomfortably disturbed, hurries on with the con- 
versation. ) 


Yes, my dear Gustave, it is pleasant to see you again, 
and under such pleasant circumstances. 


GUSTAVE. 


I never was one to go out much and your life was 
very peaceful with me. 


THEKLA, 


Yes, somewhat too peaceful ! 





96 THE CREDIEFOR: 
GUSTAVE. 


Is that so! 
you wanted it. 
were engaged. 


But, you see, I thought that was how 
At least it seemed that way when we 


THEKLA. 


Who knows then what one wants! 


Then one takes 
all one’s ideas from one’s mother! 


GUSTAVE. 
That’s the reason you married to suit yourself this 


time! Artist life is dazzling and your husband doesn’t 
seem to be one of the seven sleepers! 


THEKLA. 

One can have too much of a good thing. 
GUSTAVE. 
(Gets up.) 

What? I believe you are wearing my earings yet! 


THEKLA. 


(Embarrassed. ) 





Yes, why shouldn’t I? We never became enemies 
and then IT thought I would wear them as a sign 


THE CREDITOR. 97 





and as a remembrance——that we were not un- 
friendly—hbeside, you know, one can’t buy such ear- 
ings nowadays. (Takes out one of the earings.) 


GUSTAVE. 


Yes, that is all well and good, but what does your 
husband say to it? 


THEKLA. 


Why should I bother about what he says. 


GUSTAVE. 





Don’t you bother about that? 
hurt him by that! 


But you might 
It might make him ridiculous! 





THEKLA. 
(Shortly, to herself.) 
He is that already, at times! 
GUSTAVE. 


(Who has seen that she has difficulty in replacing her 
earings, rises.) 


May I help you? 
THEKLA. 
Thank you so much. 


98 THE CREDITOR. 
GUSTAVE. 
(Fastens the earing.) 


That little ear! 
us now! 





Suppose your husband should see 


THEKLA. 


That would set him weeping! 


GUSTAVE. 
Ts he jealous ? 
THEKLA. 


Ts he jealous! I should think so! (Noise in the 
room to the right.) 


GUSTAVE. 


Who lodges in there ? 


THEKLA. 





I don’t know. Now tell me how you are getting 
on and what you are doing. 


GusTAVE. 
Tell me how you are! 


(Thekla, embarrassed, unthinkingly removes the cloth 
from the wax figure.) 


THE CREDITOR. 99 


GUSTAVE. 





Hello! What is that! What !——-That is you! 


THEKLA. 


I don’t believe it! 


GUSTAVE. 


But it is so like you! 


THEKLA. 
(Cynically.) 
Do you find it so! 


GUSTAVE. 


That recalls the story, “How can your majesty see 
that !”’ 
THEKLA. 


(Laughs out loud.) 





You are crazy! Do you know any new. good 


stories 2 


GUSTAVE. 
No. But you must know several. 
THEKLA. 


I never hear anything funny nowadays! 


100 THE CREDITOR. 


GUSTAVE. 
Is he stupid ¢ 

THEKLA. 
Oh, yes! 

GUSTAVE. 


He wasn’t so formerly. 


THEKLA, 
He is so ill now! 


GUSTAVE. 


Then why did little brother go and stick his head 
in a strange wasps’ nest! 


THEKLA. 


(Laughs.) 
You are so crazy! 


GUSTAVE. 





Poor little girl! Do you remember when we had 
just been married that we lived in this very room! 
What? It was furnished differently then! For ex- 
ample, a bureau stood near that pillar and the bed 
stood here. 





THEKLA. 
Be silent! 

GuSTAVE. 
Look at me! 


THE |CREDITOR: 101 
THEKLA. 


I can do that very well! (She looks at ham.) 
GuSTAVE. 


Do you believe one can forget that which has made 
a vivid impression upon one 4 


THEKLA. 


No! And the power of memory is great! Particu- 
larly the power of youthful memory! 


GUSTAVE. 


Do you remember when I first met you? You were 
a little lovable child, your mind was a little slate upon 
which your parents and governesses had penciled some 
strokes which I had to rub out. And then I wrote new 
texts upon it according to my own ideas, until it was 
written full. Therefore, you see, I should not like to 
be in your husband’s place but that is his affair 
But that was one thing which attracted him to you! 
Our opinions coincide so well that when I sit and talk 
to you now it seems to me as if I uncorked a flask of 
old wine of my own bottling! J find my own wine, 
but he has preempted it! And now that I am in a posi- 
tion to marry again, I have carefully selected a young 
girl upon whom J can impress my own thoughts; for 
the woman is the child of the man; when she is not 








LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 


RIVERSIDE 


102 THE CREDITOR. 


that, he becomes hers, and then the world is turned 
topsyturvy ! 
THEKLA. 


Are you going to marry again $ 
GUSTAVE. 


Yes, I shall try my fortune once more, but this time 
T shall be careful not to make a mess of it! 


THEKLA. 
Is she pretty ? 
GUSTAVE. 


To me she is! But it may be I am too old! And it 
is strange——now that chance has led me to you 
now I begin to wonder if it is possible to begin the 
play over again. 





THEKLA. 
Why so? 
GUSTAVE. 


My affection is still rooted in you, and when you are 
present the old wounds break open again. You are a 
dangerous woman, Thekla! 


THEKLA. 


Ind-ee-d! And yet my young man says I can make 
no more conquests ! 


THE CREDITOR. 103 
GUSTAVE. 
That is to say that he has ceased to love you. 
THEKLA. 
I don’t understand what he means by love. 
GUSTAVE. 

You have played hide and seek so long that you can 
find one another no longer! And so it goes! You were 
forced to play the part of innocence so realistically that 
he did not have time for consideration. But that has 
its inconveniences, it has its inconveniences! 

THEKLA. 

You reproach me—— 

GUSTAVE. 

Certainly not! What happened had to happen, if it 
had not happened, the result might have been different ; 
but now that it has happened, it has happened! 

THEKLA. 

You are a liberal man! And I have never met one 

with whom I was as well pleased to exchange ideas. 


You are so free from moralizing and preaching, ex- 
hibit such patience with mankind, that one feels free in 


L104 THE CREDITOR. 


your company. Do you know that I am jealous of 
your future wife! 


GuSTAVE. 
And do you know that I am jealous of your bus- 
band! 
THEKLA. 
(Rises. ) 


‘And now we must part forever! Forever! 


GUSTAVE. 


Yes, we must part, but not without a farewell! Must 
we? 


THEKLA. 
(Uneasily.) 
But yes! 


GUSTAVE. 


(Following her about the room.) 


No, we must have a farewell meeting! We will in- 
toxicate ourselves so deeply that when we awaken we 
shall have lost our memories there is such an intox- 
ication! (Puts his arm about her waist.) You are 
depressed by a sick spirit whose consumption annoys 
you! I would lift you into a new life, I would make 
your talent bloom, even in autumn, like a mountain 
rose, I would (Two ladies in traveling dress appear 








THE CREDITOR. 105 


at the veranda door, seem surprised, point, laugh, and 
go away.) 


THEKLA. 
(Freeing herself from Gustave’s arm.) 
Who were they ? 
GUSTAVE. 
(With imdifference.) 


They were strangers. 


THEKLA. 


Go away! Iam afraid of you! 
GUSTAVE. 
Why? 


THEKLA. 


You take my soul from me! 


GUSTAVE. 


And give you mine in exchange! Beside, you have 
no soul, that is only an illusion! 


THEKLA. 


You have the ability of saying rude things in such a 
way that one cannot be offended with you! 


106 THE CREDITOR. 
GUSTAVE. 


That is because you feel that I hold the first mort- 
gage on you. Where shall it be——and how ? 





THEKLA. 


No, it would hurt him! He still loves me and I 
will not be bad again! 


GUSTAVE. 


He doesn’t love you! Do you want evidence ? 
THERKLA. 
How can you produce it? 
GUSTAVE. 
(Picks up the preces of the photograph from the floor.) 
Here! See for yourself! 


THEKLA. 


Oh! That is shameful! 


GUSTAVE. 


Then when shall it be, and how? 





You see 


DEK GREDETOR 107 
THEKLA. 
The false little wretch! 


GUSTAVE. 





When 2 


THEKLA. 
He takes the eight o’clock boat to-night! 


GUSTAVE. 


Then. 





THEKLA, 


At nine o’clock! (Noise in the room to the right.) 
Who is that going on in that way ? 


GUSTAVE. 
(Looking through the keyhole.) 
We will see! An overturned table and a broken 


carafe; nothing more! Possibly they have locked a dog 
in there! At nine, then! 





THEKLA. 


Very well! Let the blame be his! Such a falsehood 
from him, who was always preaching in praise of truth 
and who taught me to speak the. truth! But wait 
once——how was it then! He greeted me almost 
in anger,—did not meet me at the dock and then 











108 THE CREDITOR. 





he said something about the young men on the 














boat. I acted as if I didn’t understand but how 
did he know about that ? Wait a minute and 
then he philosophised about women then your 





memory haunted him then he announced that he 
would become a sculptor, as that was the art of the 





present just as you used to speculate! 
GUSTAVE. 
No, really ? 
THEKLA. 





No, really! Ah! Now I understand! Now I 
begin to see what a frightful villain you are! You 
have been here and torn him to pieces! You sat there 
in the chaise longue! You convinced him that he had 
the epilepsy, that he must live as a celebate, that he 
must show himself a man and revolt against his wife! 
Yes, you were the one! How long have you been 
here ? 





GUSTAVE. 
I have been here eight days! 
THEERLA. 
And it was you I saw on the boat! 


GUSTAVE. 
It was I! 


THE CREDITOR. 109 
THEKLA. 
And now you think to trap me! 
GuSTAVE. 


I have done so already! 


THEKLA. 
Not yet! 

GUSTAVE. 
Oh, yes! 

THEKLA. 


You slunk upon my lamb like a wolf! You came 
here with the villainous plan of disturbing my happi- 
ness and you set it in operation until my eyes were 
opened and I overthrew it! 


GUSTAVE. 





It is not exactly as you say. This is the way it 
really happened !——That things should go wrong with 
you was naturally my secret wish! But I was almost 
certain that I could not make them do so! Beside, I 
had so much else to which to attend that there was no 
time left me in which to intrigue. But, when by 
chance I found myself idling about here, and when 
by chance I saw you and the young men on the steam- 
boat, I thought the time had come to look in upon you! 





110 THE CREDITOR. 


IT came here and your lamb threw himself at once 
into the wolf’s arms. I gained his sympathy by a 
system of reflex action, which to explain to you would 
require me to be more impolite than I care to be. At 
first I felt compassion for him, as he was in the same 
position I had been formerly. But then thoughts arose 
which made my old wounds smart the book, you 
know, and the idiot and I conceived the desire to 
stick him to death to stick him through and through 
so that he could not be patched up again—and fortune 
favored me, thanks to your intelligent co-operation. 
You were the feather in the works and had to be 
broken in two! Now we shall hear it strike! 

When I met you here I did not know exactly what 
T should say. I had an indefinite plan, of course, like 
that of a chess player, but it depended upon your 
moves how I should carry out the game! One thing 
led to another, chance aided me and so I landed the 














fish Now you are fast! 
THEKLA. 
Not yet! 
GUSTAVE. 





Yes, that you are! What you wished for least of 
all has happened. The world, represented by two fem- 
inine travelers, whom I did not lead hither, forall 
am no plotter the world has seen how you have be- 
come reconciled to your first husband-——and once 
more nestle in his embrace! Is that enough ? 








THE CREDITOR. a lala 
THEKLA. 


It may be enough for revenge! But tell me, you 
who are so intelligent, and who think so clearly; how 
can it be that you, who hold that everything which hap- 
pens must necessarily happen, and that all our actions 
are restricted 





GUSTAVE. 
( Correcting.) 
To a certain extent restricted. 


THEKLA. 


It’s the same thing! 


GUSTAVE. 


No. 


THEKLA. 


How does it happen that you, who consider me not 
to blame for doing as I. have done, because my nature 
and circumstances led me; how can you hold that you 
have a right to revenge yourself ? 


GUSTAVE. 


Upon just the same ground; upon the ground that 
my nature and circumstances led me to revenge my- 


112 THE CREDITOR. 


self! Isn’t it the same game! But do you know why 
both of you had to be losers in the battle ¢ 


(Thekla looks at him scornfully.) 


GUSTAVE. 


Why I conquered both of you? Because I was 
stronger and wiser than you. You were the idiot 
and he! For, understand, one is not necessarily an 
idiot because he cannot write books nor paint pictures! 
Mark you that! 





THEKLA. 


Are you a complete egotist in your feelings! 


GUSTAVE. 





A complete one! But, see you, it is on that ac- 
count that I can understand a little what you have suf- 
fered, and feel a little for what you must suffer. 


THEKLA. 


And all this because I wounded your self-love! 


GUSTAVE. 


Not that alone! To continue wounding other self- 
loves! That is, the secret spot that one has! 


THE CREDITOR. 113 


THEKLA. 


A revengeful wretch! Pooh! 


GUSTAVE. 


A wanton wretch! Pooh! 


THEEKLA. 
That is my character, is it? 


GUSTAVE. 





That is my character, is it? One must investi- 
gate the human nature of the other before one can give 
one’s own nature free play! Otherwise, divorce, and 
the end is howling and gnashing of teeth! 


THERLA, 





You can never forgive 


GUSTAVE. 


But I have forgiven you! 


THEKLA. 
You! 


GUSTAVE. 


Certainly! Have TI lifted my hand against you in 
all these years? No! And now I have only to come 


114 THE CREDITOR. 


here and peep in to set you at odds. Have I reproached 
you, have I moralized, have I preached¢ No! I have 
amused myself with your husband a little and that was 
enough to bring him into his proper place. But I 
stand here as the plaintiff and excuse myself! Thekla, 
have you no reproaches to make ¢ 


THEKLA. 


Certainly not! The Christians assert that Provi- 
dence regulates all our acts; others call it Fate——are 
we not guiltless ? 

GUSTAVE. 


Yes, to a certain extent, but there remains the small 
margin of free will, and there the debt of sin rests, and 
the creditor must be paid sooner or later. Guiltless, 
yet responsible! Guiltless before Him, because He 
exists no longer; answerable to yourself and your fel- 
low men. 

THEKLA. 


You came then and demanded payment! 
GUSTAVE. 


I came to take back what you had stolen, not what 
had been given to you. You stole my honor and, as I 
cannot recover that, I have taken yours! Was I right? 


THEKLA. 


Honor! Hm! And now you are satisfied ? 


THE CREDITOR. 115 


. 


GUSTAVE. 

Now I am satistied! (Rings for the waiter.) 
THEKLA. 

And now you are going to your fiancee ? 
GUSTAVE. 


T have none! And I never shall have one. T am not 
going home, because I have no home and never shall 
have one! (Vhe waiter enters.) Give me my bill, I 
must take the eight o’clock boat. (The waiter bows 
and goes.) 


THEKLA. 
Without atonement ? 
GuSTAVE. 


“ Atonement?’ You have so many words which have 
lost their meaning! ‘Atonement?’ Is it likely that 
we shall live long enough. One must atone by resti- 
tution, but you cannot do that! You have not only 
taken, but yon have destroyed what vou have taken, so 
that it cannot be restored! Would you be satisfied 
if I were to say: Forgive me because you have dishon- 
ored me; forgive me because I have been a laughing 
stock for my students every day for seven years; for- 
give me because I freed you from parental restraint, 





116 THE CREDITOR. 


liberated you from the tyrany of ignorance and super- 
stition; because I set you at the head of my household, 
gave you friends and position, and changed. you from 
a child to a woman! Now I cross off my bill! Go 
now and make your account with the other! 





THEKLA. 





What have you done to him? I begin to dread 
something frightful ! 


GUSTAVE. 





With him! Do you love him still? 


THEKLA, 
Yes! 
GusTAVE. 


And you loved me once! Was that true? 


THEKLA. 
It was true! 
GUSTAVE. 


Do you know what you are then? 
THEELA. 


You eurse me? 
GUSTAVE. 


I denounce you! That is a quality, I do not say a 
fault, but a quality, which must be unprofitable on ac- 


THE CREDITOR. 17 


count of its result. Poor Thekla! I don’t know 
I almost believe it moves me, although [ am innocent 
as you! But possibly it may be good for you to 
feel what I felt once! Do you know where your 
husband is ? 














THEKLA. 





I believe I know! He is in your room next to 
this! And he who sees his guardian angel 
dies ! zs 








(Adolph appears at the veranda door, white as a 
corpse, with a bloody mark on one of his cheeks; his 
eyes are fixed and there is white foam on his mouth.) 


GUSTAVE. 
(Softly.) 
No, there he is!’ Make your reckoning with him and 


then you will see if he is as generous as I am! Fare- 
well! (Goes to the left, but remains on the stage.) 





THEKLA. 
(Goes toward Adolph with wide-open arms.) 
Adolph! 


* NOTE.—According to Teutonic superstition his guardian 
angel appears to a man immediately before his death, 


118 THE CREDITOR. 
(Adolph sinks down im the doorway.) 
THEKLA. 
(Throwing herself upon Adolph’s body and caress- 
img it.) 


Adolph! My darling! Are you alive! Speak, 
speak ! Forgive your wicked Thekla! Forgive! 
Forgive! Forgive! Little brother must answer, does 
he hear ! No, my God, he does not hear! He is 
dead! O God in Heaven; 0 my God, help us, help us! 











GUSTAVE. 





She really did love him too! Poor creature! 


(Curtain. ) 


SWANWHITE 


A FAIRY DRAMA 
By AUGUST STRINDBERG 


Translated by Francis J. ZIEGLER 


PRINTED ON DECKLE EDGE PAPER AND ATTRACTIVELY BOUND 
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A Poetic Idyl, which is charming in its sweet purity, delightful in its 
optimism, elusive in its complete symbolism, but wholesome in its message 
that pure love can conquer evil. 

So out of the cold North, out of the mouth of the world’s most terrible 
misogynists, comes a strange message—one which is as sweet as it is unex- 
pected. And August Strindberg, the enemy of love, sings that pure love 
is all powerful and all-conquering. -"SPRINGFIELD, MASS., 
REPUBLICAN. 





It is worth while to have all of the plays of such a great dramatist in 
our English tongue. Since the death of Ibsen he is the chief of the 
Scandinavians. . . The publishers deserve thanks and support for their 
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temporary foreign plays. . . .’—THE SUN, Baltimore. 


—_ee——_—- 


« An idyllic play, filled with romantic machinery of the Northern fairy 
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PHILADELPHIA RECORD. 


ET ST NE eT a 


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Another example of this author’s remarkable power as 
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seal of genius. Andreiyeff is an O. Henry, plus the : 
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Sli Ne 


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Silence is overflowing with the intensity and the pent- 
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BOSTON EVENING TRANSCRIPT. 





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guided by the soul of a great artist. .... The artistry 
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